THE SKIRMISH LINE OF SPRING 45 



the brook. On a clear, warm morning I shall awake to a 

 thrilling flute call just outside my window the first 

 white-throated sparrow! Spring will be here, the 

 Spring of the poets, of bird song and flowers. But its 

 sweetest moments will have passed, those first stirrings 

 in the sod, those anticipatory sounds and odours, those 

 whispered premonitions. Somehow, it is they that I 

 love best. 



